Codename: Night Witch (20 page)

"I'm no
bounty hunter.
" Her finger tightened on the trigger, and a small bead of sweat appeared on the courier's forehead. "I don't want your patron's money."

"No money has been offered."

"Then why?" Sigrid said. "Why deliver him at all?"

"Because my patron is prepared to offer you something you
do
desire."

"And what is that?" Sigrid spat. "What does your patron think I want so desperately that I'd spare Jones's life?"

His eyes flicked from the twin barrels of her pistols back to meet hers. "The last six years of your life, for one," the courier said. "Your
memories
, Sigrid Novak. That is what my patron is prepared to offer you."

The pistols nearly fell from her grasp. It took all of her wits to stand firm. "My-my memories?"

"Your memories. Your experiences.
Your life
. All the knowledge that has been kept from you will be returned. My patron wishes that you should know everything, Sigrid Novak. Especially in regards to who it was who did this to you."

"I already know who did this. Jones did this to me!"

"I'm afraid I can't speak to that."

"No?" Sigrid said. "And what
can
you speak to?"

"Do this service for my patron, Sigrid Novak, do this, and you will be rewarded. You may kill me now, if you so wish."

For a moment Sigrid seriously contemplated pulling the triggers. She was tired of being manipulated, and she was being manipulated right now. But the courier wasn't lying either. She'd scanned him thoroughly and she was utterly convinced: he was telling her the truth. But what truth was that? All that meant was that he was delivering the message as written. The sender of that message could be making up anything they liked. Truth or lie, she could hardly scan this
patron
by proxy.

And the courier was right about something else. Sigrid was desperate to have those stolen six years back.

Sigrid muttered a curse and spat. They had her, and they knew it. Of course, this was most likely a lie—just bait for a trap—but the only way to tell was to do what they asked. Deliver Harry Jones.

"How do I know you'll do as promised?"

"I have promised nothing. All I have done is deliver a message."

"And if I do this, will I meet this patron of yours?"

"Deliver Harry Jones, and my patron will find you."

"And what if I kill him?" Sigrid said. "What if I kill Jones? Will your patron be displeased?"

"A distinct possibility. But that is your choice."

The courier bowed and backed away. He paused, half in shadow, to look back over his shoulder. "One last thing, Sigrid Novak. In three days' time, the marquis di Valparaíso is playing host to a group of dignitaries. Ex-CTF, plutocrats, drug lords and smugglers alike. A veritable who's who of Earth's neo-corporatocracy. My patron suggests that you attend. Oh, and formal attire is strongly recommended."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nuria

The high-pitched whine of the longspur's
thrusters scattered the few pedestrians milling about in the streets.

Sigrid leaned forward, pushing her ride to its upper limits. She wasn't going home to her quarters. Not yet. The arrival of the courier and message from his patron had given rise to several questions. Questions for which Sigrid wanted answers. Tomorrow she would deal with Harry Jones. Tonight—right now there was someone else she needed to see.

The location of Roos Van de Berg, the magistrate's daughter, was being kept a secret, and Sigrid had had her fill of secrets. The information was sealed in a secure file. At least, it had been sealed, until Sigrid had helped herself to it.

During the meeting with the magistrate, Sigrid had made a point of infiltrating the Consortium's networks. She'd helped herself to every piece of information she could find. Anything and everything the Consortium was involved in. Trade deals, mercenary contracts, water and waste management strategies, and, of course, the hidden location of the magistrate's daughter.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the magistrate—though, in fact, she didn't—but if the woman knew something, Sigrid was determined that the information be shared. When this was over, she'd talk to the colonel about their lapse in wireless security protocols. Until then, she'd continue to monitor their data networks.

Roos was being housed in a secure facility in the garrison district, a safe house lost amongst the clutter of warehouses and machine shops.

Sigrid cut the thrusters, letting the longspur glide to a stop amongst the shadows. The safe house stood across the street. Two guards watched the front entrance while several more patrolled along the rooftops. Her sensors detected some surprising security measures, but nothing she couldn't handle.

She was scanning the wall, searching for a weak spot in the perimeter, when another idea hit her. Why break in at all?

I am working for the magistrate, after all.

Parking the longspur
,
Sigrid strode across the street and directly through the blinding light of the streetlamps. The guards saw her, of course. Their eyes followed each of her long strides. Sigrid braced for the calls to "Halt!" or to "Lay down her arms!" Instead, they saluted. One went so far as to hold the door for her, even giving her a tip of his braided hat.

Sigrid gave her head a shake. Perhaps her paranoia was unfounded.

Perhaps.

It only took a moment to find the girl. She was in a private room on the third floor. The cluster of guards parted for Sigrid, admitting her. Sigrid entered and gasped.

Roos was lying in a hospital bed and quite unconscious. Her head was bandaged and showed stains of blood. A thick breathing tube had been inserted into her mouth and her left arm was in a cast and secured by a brace. Even at this late hour, two nurses stood by studying the many monitors that surrounded her. It was only the machines that were keeping her alive.

"They had to put her in a coma," a voice said from behind her. "They were concerned with the swelling in her brain."

Sigrid didn't need to turn around. She'd already sensed the magistrate approaching from behind. "Will she live?"

"The doctor says it's too early to tell."

"And the other girls?" Sigrid said. "The other three we rescued. What will happen to them?"

"I suppose that's up to you. I haven't forgotten our bargain, Ms. Novak. I know you want to take them with you when you go. If the girls wish to follow you, I won't stop them. In the meantime, they will be taken care of. I promise."

"And Roos? What if she wants to follow me too? Will you let her go?"

"My daughter is a nineteen-year-old girl. I learned long ago, teenage girls will do as they please, regardless of the wishes of their mothers. Roos will make her own choices."

"And if she chooses to undergo the treatments—to be like me?"

"If that is her wish."

Sigrid turned back to Roos. Even in a coma, lying there helpless, to be so close to one of her kind, it was electric. It felt like an eternity since she'd been amongst her own kind. She'd forgotten what a powerful effect it had on her.

"I thought perhaps you were hiding her from me."

"Is that even possible?"

"No," Sigrid said bluntly. "It isn't."

"I have no desire to double-cross you, Ms. Novak. We want the same thing. I want Lars Koenig dead. You want the man who's helping him. Once our business is transacted, we will discuss the future of my daughter."

"Seventy-two hours, Magistrate. In three days, you won't have to worry about the marquis or the Cabal anymore."

"And you won't have to worry about Harry Jones. We can both come out of this winners, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid nodded solemnly. "Just make sure that ship and crew you promised is ready when I return."

~ - ~

It was nearly three a.m. when Sigrid returned to her quarters. Stripping out of her weapons harness, she threw it in a heap on the floor. Guns, grenades, blades, all of them landed in a messy pile, as Sigrid was too tired to bother hanging her things up properly.

Suko would not approve.

To her surprise, the lights of her private suite were still on. Sounds of cooking came from the kitchen along with what could only be described as the most tantalizing collection of smells she had experienced in a long, long while.

"Nuria?" Sigrid said as she poked her head into the kitchen. "What on Earth are you doing up? You should be in bed!"

Flames blazed on the stove top's burners. Six frying pans crackled loudly. An overhead fan whirred, sucking away the steam and cooking smoke. Sigrid leaned closer. Frying eggs, bacon, steaks, mashed potatoes, peas, roasted chicken, spaghetti—along with four kinds of sauce—and a mountain of leafy green salad covered the entire length of the counter.

Nuria was standing in the midst of it all, with her back to Sigrid, and the sleeves of her uniform rolled up.

"I thought you might be hungry. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I…" Nuria scratched her head. "Well, I suppose I made everything."

To Sigrid, it looked as though Nuria had emptied the entire contents of the larder. Though if the growling and gurgling emanating from her midsection was any indication, she was, in fact, quite hungry.

"You'll join me, of course."

Nuria blanched at the suggestion. "Oh no! I couldn't. It wouldn't look right."

"To whom? We appear to be alone." Taking her by the hand, Sigrid led her to the kitchen table, where she made the girl sit. "I insist."

Sigrid then took a spatula and served herself six eggs, two steaks, a mountain of potatoes, along with salad, pasta and three baguettes. "It's a metabolic thing," Sigrid said in answer to Nuria's wide eyes. For Nuria she prepared a more modest plate, though it was still clearly too much for her. Nuria poked at it, pushing the diced potatoes around in a circle.

"Eat! There's no standing on ceremony here, Nuria," Sigrid said, around a large mouthful of fried steak; she was amazed they could get real beef here at all. The power of the magistrate, she supposed. A part of her felt a pang of guilt. What were the other people of the Crossroads finding to eat this night? Barley? Soy? Probably nothing like what Nuria had prepared. But her hunger won out over her guilt, and she dived into a second helping of rib roast. No sense in letting it go to waste.

When the meal was over, Sigrid sat back with her hands over her stomach. "You're quite the cook, Nuria. I'm surprised the magistrate doesn't have you working in her private kitchens."

"She did," Nuria said, with a bowed head. "I mean, I was. But when word came that you were coming here, I asked for this assignment. It is an honor to serve you, Lady Sigrid."

Sigrid frowned. The girl seemed to be having the most difficult time looking her in the face. It wasn't shyness, it was something else, though she couldn't put her finger on what exactly that was. "Please, Nuria, I told you to call me Sigrid—and none of this 'honor' nonsense! I'm just another out-of-work mercenary working for the magistrate. Hardly something that's in short supply these days."

"I know that's not true," Nuria said, and for the briefest instant she looked up to meet Sigrid's eyes. "I know what you are, Lady Sigrid. You're a hero."

Sigrid chewed slowly on the mouthful of bread. "I know what they're saying about me, Nuria, but that hardly makes me a hero. More of a monster, I should imagine."

"No!" Nuria said, and with such force that Sigrid practically leapt back. "You're wrong. You
are
a hero."

"Nuria—"

"Forgive me, Lady Sigrid, but without you, we'd still be living under Council rule. Most of the people here would still be in the factories or, worse, the mines. And me, I'd still be a-a…"

Nuria's fists clenched and her hands shook with remembered rage. She couldn't finish the sentence, and Sigrid didn't press her. She didn't need to.

Nuria might only be seventeen, but Sigrid knew what happened to girls like her.

In many ways, their lives weren't that different. They were both children of Earth's squalid ghettos, both of them sold by their parents into servitude. But the similarities ended there.

Nuria's had been a hard life, tougher and more desperate than anything Sigrid had endured on Alcyone. How many years had Nuria been forced to work for the flesh-traders? Two years, three years? Five? By seventeen she'd be nearing her end days, used up and ready to be discarded. By eighteen, girls like Nuria would be dead. By drugs. By disease. Or by their own hand.

Without thinking, Sigrid reached across the table and took Nuria's hand, prying her clenched fingers loose. Slowly, Nuria's trembling subsided.

"Nuria, whatever you think I've done,
I am
the one who should be honored to have you here. You survived. I can't think of anything more heroic than that. Thank you, Nuria."

The girl shook her head. It was clear she still didn't understand. "For what?"

"For this dinner, for one," Sigrid said with a smile, doing her best to lighten the mood. "It was delightful. Exactly what I needed. And for your company, of course. Though I'm afraid I must take my leave. It's been a long day, and I have an even longer day ahead of me. Here, let me help clear these plates—"

Nuria leapt up, snatching the dirty dishes from Sigrid's hand. "Oh no. You mustn't. Please."

With a sigh, Sigrid relented; Nuria seemed actually relieved being able to focus on her work again. Sigrid decided it was best to leave her be.

She watched a moment, listening to the clattering of plates and rushing water, though when she retreated to the bedroom, Nuria rushed ahead of her in time to turn down her bed and help her undress, even tucking her in. By this time, Sigrid had learned not to bother protesting, and she let the girl tend to her duties, as ridiculous as they seemed.

"You're very good at this," Sigrid said from beneath the sheets—sheets tucked so tight she felt like a wrapped mummy. "Remind me to write you a letter of recommendation before I go."